4 Times Sam Watched Dean Smoke, and 2 Times He Smoked
by stars28
Summary: He also knew - before his father - that Dean was smoking. It was surprising that his dad hadn't picked up on it yet, but Sam was smarter than his Dad.


**4 Times Sam Watched Dean Smoke, and 2 Times He Smoked.**

* * *

Sam was smart, he knew that the earth went round the sun and that it did three hundred and sixty-three turns on its axis while it went round, creating the days of the year, and that the turning caused night and day. So, yes, he was smart.

He also knew - before his father - that Dean was smoking. It was surprising that his dad hadn't picked up on it yet, but Sam was smarter than his Dad.

* * *

Sam was twelve and Dean was sixteen, although his fake IDs said he was twenty-one. They were driving to Detroit, Michigan to take care of what Dad thought was a werewolf when Sam first figured it out.

It was at a no-name gas station. Dad was filling up the Impala for the long drive ahead, and Dean had said he was going to the toilet. Sam had stayed in the car, watching as Dad filled up the tank and went into pay. He hoped that Dad would get something to eat, as they hadn't eaten since the night before.

As Dean climbed back into the car, Sam could smell the faint smell of smoke, but he shrugged it off as belonging to the body Dean had burnt the night before. Then Dean reached over to grab something from the backseat, and Sam could smell the smokey smell properly. It wasn't like the one that came off dead bodies. This was more powerful, it had a subtle _something_ to it, and that confused Sam until later that day.

Later that day, Sam caught Dean sliding something that wasn't his knife under his pillow. He waited until Dean had gone outside to help Dad with the Impala and then checked under Dean's pillow. He flipped it over and a box fell to the motel floor.

Sam picked it up, examining it carefully. It said _Wildhorse_ in black writing on the front above a picture of a black horse on a red background. He flipped the lid and counted seven cigarettes in there. Before either his Dad or Dean could interrupt him, he put the box back where it had been before.

He went outside and sat on the kerb in the summer sun, watching Dean tinker with the Impala under Dad's strict guidance, and silently wondered how long Dean had smoked.

* * *

It was four years later, when Dean had just turned twenty and Sam was sixteen.

They were in the state of Washington, just outside Olympia when Sam was reminded of Dean smoking.

Dean was driving the Impala as fast as she could go down back lanes. Sam was in the back, desperately trying to stop the bleeding on Dad's leg. He pressed his t-shirt against the wound, wincing sympathetically as his Dad groaned in discomfort.

"Sorry Dad." He said, watching as the blood soaked into his t-shirt, staining the white a brilliant red.

Dad just groaned, which Sam took to be a good sign. It'd be a lot more worrying if he wasn't conscious.

They had been hunting a wendigo in the woods and, although they'd successfully torched it, Dad had been injured, a five-inch cut all the way down to the bone. That had happened just before Dean torched it.

"Hurry Dean!" Sam urged, praying for the Impala to go faster.

"Trying Sam!" Dean replied.

Soon they were at the hospital, Dean swung into a parking space, the Impala's tires squealing. Dean started lugging Dad out of the car and Sam helping him to carry him over the A&amp;E. They went in, like some weird kind of four-legged race, taking up the whole doorway.

"Help! Now!" Dean yelled, as they entered, everyone staring at them.

Several nurses rushed over, one of them pushing a trolley. Sam carefully helped Dean to put Dad on the trolley. They tried to follow him as nurses rolled him away, but they were stopped.

"Does he have any insurance?" A nurse asked them.

Sam watched as Dean nodded and followed her, giving her a small smile as she gave him the necessary forms to fill in. Dean came back and slumped in the seat next to Sam.

"So, I guess it's time to use Dad's fake medical insurance?" Sam said, looking at the forms Dean had in his hand and being glad he wasn't the one who had to fill them out.

Dean nodded, concentrating on filling in the forms. When he'd finished, he stood up and went to give them to the nurse. She smiled flirtatious at Dean, but he didn't even respond.

Sam was then given the order to "Stay there," while Dean went to move the Impala.

Naturally, being a curious boy, Sam ignored that order, and instead followed Dean at a reasonable distance, just for the hell of it. If nothing else, he could always say that he was practicing following people at a distance, though he somehow doubted that Dean would believe that excuse. Dean had always had a good idea of when Sam was lying, which was endlessly irritating.

He rounded the corner to the hospital car park and saw Dean leaning against the gleaming black of the Impala, cupping something in his hands. Sam saw the flash of a lighter, and then a cloud of smoke rose from Dean's mouth as he breathed out, moving his hand away, having lit the cigarette.

Sam reflected that, with the muscle car behind him and his worn leather jacket, Dean did look like any girls dream 'bad boy'.

* * *

By the time Sam was thinking about telling Dad and Dean about his Stanford acceptance letter, he'd witnessed several fights between Dean and their father, about him going on hunts, about what happened on the hunt. However, the most memorable one was about Dean's smoking.

Sam watched as Dean slipped outside the motel room with his hands in his leather jacket. The leather jacket was an old one of their fathers', so it hung a bit loose on Dean's twenty-two year old frame. The girls seemed to appreciate the 'bad boy' look anyway, at least that's what Dean boasted about to Sam.

He waited a few minutes to make sure that Dean wouldn't come back, and then he followed him. Sam had gotten into this habit since about two, maybe three, years ago, of following Dean and watching him smoke. He couldn't understand why he did. fascination, he supposed.

Feeling like a little kid again, Sam peeked round the corner to see Dean lighting his much-needed - if the shaking beforehand had anything to do with it - cigarette. The flame from Dean's lighter shook slightly as he held it to the end of the cigarette. It quickly sparked up and Sam watched as Dean inhaled and then exhaled the smoke. It was blown away by the slight breeze.

He wondered why Dean smoked. Maybe it was for relaxation, it might have been at the beginning, but now Sam thought it was Dean's addiction pushing him to smoke.

Distantly, he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine. Quickly, he looked at Dean, decided he wasn't moving - Dean had his eyes shut and was clearly enjoying his cigarette - and then Sam darted back to the room.

Sam was lying on the bed, reading, when his Dad entered, carrying the weapons. Sam thought this was because he needed to clean them, and that was his afternoon gone. And Dean's.

"Hey Dad." Sam said, looking up from his book.

"Hey Sam," Dad said, dumping the weapons on the small table that acted as the dining table for them, "Where's Dean?"

He shrugged, not wanting to get Dean in trouble.

His dad frowned, "He should be here, not out with some girl."

The door behind Dad opened and Dean walked in, his eyes going comically wide when he sees their Dad. Sam was prepared to bet money that wasn't his on the fact that Dean had been hoping to have a shower to get rid of the cigarette smell. He almost laughed, but then realised that doing so would draw unwanted attention to himself. He didn't want both Dad's and Dean's penetrating gaze on him. If he did laugh, he thought that Dean might suspect what he kept doing.

Sam watched as Dad's nostils twitched, and felt instantly bad for his brother.

"What's that smell?" Dad asked.

Sam could clearly see that their Dad was giving Dean a chance to come clean.

"Oh, nothing." Dean replied, shutting the door and standing in front of their father.

He knew instantly that his brother had given the wrong answer.

"Don't lie Dean! I can smell the smoke on you from here!" Dad erupted, his face going red, "You've been smoking when you should have been looking after Sam! Irresponsible!"

Oh good, Sam thought, he'd been dragged into the fight. It hadn't taken long.

"No, I haven't! It was this girl who I was with!" Dean defended.

"It wasn't a girl! I know that it was you Dean!"

"How?" Dean challenged, one hand in his leather jacket pocket.

Sam had a theory that Dean's hand was clutching the packet of _Wildhorse_ tightly, but of course, he wasn't going to say that, not when they were at each others throats. He wasn't suicidal.

He tuned Dad and Dean's shouting out and returned to his book. He was reading his battered copy of _Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring_. It was pretty special, Dean had 'borrowed' it for his seventeenth birthday present and Sam had been pleased. He'd smiled and thanked him when Dean had gone into _how_ he'd managed to steal the book.

"Sam!"

He blinked and looked up from his book to find his Dad standing above him.

"Yeah?"

"Did you know Dean was smoking?" Dad asked, his eyes boring into Sam's.

Sam shook his head wordlessly, he wasn't getting any more involved with this argument if he could help it.

* * *

The next time Sam saw his brother smoke was when he was on the bus to California.

Dad had properly flipped out when he'd found Sam's Stanford acceptance letter under his pillow. Stupid place to hide it in retrospect. Dad had given him a ultimation: _stay or leave._ Sam had chosen to leave, much to Dean's disappointment. The sadness had been painstakingly obvious in Dean's green eyes when he'd asked if Sam wanted a lift in the Impala to the bus station.

Sam had never appreciated his brother more than in that moment. The last thing Dad had said before leaving to the nearest bar no doubt, was to order Dean not to help him get away. But, in the minute Dad had left, Dean had offered him a lift.

So here he was, saying goodbye to his brother, the one who'd basically raised him from six months old, and Sam had no idea what to say. He felt like he should say something before he got on the bus.

"So..." He started, not really sure what else to say.

"Sammy," And for once, Sam didn't complain or correct Dean, he just let his brother speak, "You're gonna be fine, don't fuss about me and Dad, you know we'll look after each other. Have a good time yeah?"

It appeared that Dean knew exactly what to say to calm Sam down and reassured him in the same sentence. His brother knew him better than anyone else on the planet.

Sam hugged Dean just as the bus pulled up and then got on it. He settled down on the seat right at the back of the bus, his duffel next to him.

Looking back as the bus drove off, Sam saw a lighter spark and the whispers of smoke rising up from his brothers' mouth as he leant against the Impala. Sam watched Dean until the bus turned, causing Dean to disappear out of sight.

He sighed and leant his forehead against the coolness of the window.

* * *

While at Stanford, Sam tried smoking and drinking without his brother. He'd coughed when he had his first cigarette - it wasn't a _Wildhorse_ cigarette - but after his third drag, he'd gotten used to the taste and how to exhale the smoke before he coughed. It'd felt weird to smell the smoke and know it wasn't his brother, it was him.

Since there was a place on campus that sold alcohol and cigarettes to under aged customers - although that wasn't a problem to Sam, he had a small, locked box hidden under his bed with all his fake IDs in - Sam brought a ten-pack of _Wildhorse_ cigarettes and a lighter - not a Zippo lighter like one of Dean's, just a cheap, purple one.

Once outside, with both of his purchases in his pocket, Sam walked to a little park near the shop. He went through the rusty, iron gate and sat down at the nearest bench. He got the cigarettes out and opened them, taking in the smell of them before he got one out.

This will be the only time, he thought as he lit the cigarette and took the first drag. He was determined not to turn into a seasoned smoker at eighteen, like his brother had apparently done, although admittedly, Dean had started to smoke at sixteen, not eighteen.

Sam exhaled, the smell of the smoke reminded him of Dean, and that was what drove him to finish the cigarette, and later on, over the next week, the packet.

* * *

The next time Sam smoked was when their Dad was burning in front of them and he had tears running unashamedly down his cheeks. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean get a packet of _Wildhorse_ out of his pocket and light one.

"Dean." Sam said, quietly.

Dean looked over at him, smoke rising from his mouth already, "Yeah Sam?"

"Pass," Sam's voice cracked and he scrubbed at the tears sliding down his face, "Pass me one."

Confusion was clear on Dean's face, even in the half-light of the moon and the fire in front of them, as he passed the packet of cigarettes to Sam. Sam took one, passed the packet back to his brother, and felt in his pocket for that cheap, purple lighter he'd brought at Stanford. He lit the cigarette with practiced ease and skill.

"Since when do you smoke?" Dean asked.

"Since I went to Stanford Dean." Sam replied, tapping ash off his cigarette onto the dewy grass beneath their feet.

* * *

_**A/N:** Ok, so this is my 2nd Supernatural fanfiction ever. What do you think?_


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